To the Daffodil

I made this photo for my facebook, and I like it so well, I wanted to put it here, too.  I love the greens and yellows together.  I love the poem.  I love daffodils.  We're still waiting to see them here this year, but a woman can dream.  The original photo was from my friend Karin, and of her spring gardens in northern Indiana.

Another text I had considered including was the Daffodowndilly traditional English rhyme,

Daffodowndilly 

Is new come to town

In a yellow petticoat 

And a green gown.

And as long as we're on the subject, here are a few other choice daffodil tidbits.

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
~William Wordsworth, "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud," 1804

When I bought my farm, I did not know what a bargain I had in the bluebirds, daffodils and thrushes; as little did I know what sublime mornings and sunsets I was buying.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

The daffodil is our doorside queen; 

She pushes upward the sword already, 

To spot with sunshine the early green.

~William Cullen Bryant

A Joyful Cacophony

This post demonstrates two very opposite truths of Christian family life:  1) the great joy of seeing children practicing their reading skills by singing familiar hymns from the hymnal; and 2) the chagrin at seeing something that littles learn from bigs, which is not always the kind of thing a mother wishes her children would learn in association with a well-loved hymn.

Christmas Angel Choir from Gerard David's Nativity

The well loved hymn:
Joy to the World

The setting: 
Our living room. 

Stella singing a little bit ahead, since she is a faster reader. 
Donna slowly sounding out the words based on her rudimentary reading skills and familiarity with the hymn. 
Inge, flying in from the kitchen about half-way through, with her own little addition to the choir.

Reader beware:  Cacophony ensued which I will try to capture in the written word.  You must imagine much simultaneous singing of a variety of words.

Stella:  Joy to the world, the Lord is come.  Let earth, receive her King.  Let every heart, ...
Donna joins at about this time, still keeping time, since the first verse is mostly familiar:  Joy  to the world, the Lord is come.  Let earth, receive her King.  Let every heart, ...

A little further on, it sounded somewhat like this:

Stella:  Joy to the earth
Donna: Let every heart
Stella: The Savior reigns
Donna: Prepare Him room
Stella: Let men their songs employ
Donna: And heaven and nature sing

But at some point in this somewhat disarrayed, but still lovely chorus, Inge came flying in, joining at the top of her lungs, singing with great zeal to compete with the other strains:

Joy to the world, my bus driver's dead.  We barbecued his head.

Ms Frizzle and Lizzie, from the Magic Schoolbus

Quick and Healthful Soup for Sick Days

I've had sick kids for days.  The last two days were spend with my two youngest hanging their heads in buckets.  By the time today rolled around, they were so puny.  Just wimpy looking, flaccid skin and muscle tone.  They could hardly hold up their little cups to sip their drinks. 

Besides that, theMom was pretty much at the end of her stamina, too.  Simply no more energy to wring out of me.  I had nothing left to give.

Which left us in a situation in which I felt we needed a good healthful meal, but had no energy to produce one.  With stocked up ingredients and a little creativity, however, we ended up with a fabulous and hopefully nutritive soup.

I'm not sure I could come up with a good name for it, since the ingredients are so, well, strange.  Probably the best I could do is Elk and Onions in Beef Bone Broth, with Spaetzle and Carrots.

Easy Healthy Soup, aka Elk and Onions in Beef Bone Broth, with Spaetzle and Carrots

• Three medium onions
• Celery with leaves.  I used about an inch and a half diameter of the center of a stalk.
• A hefty splash of olive oil
• Three to four quarts of your choice of broth.  Homemade bone broth is great if you have it.  We have canned home made beef bone broth on hand.  It's more of a concentrate, really.  I used 2 pints of broth and diluted each with about 3 pints of water.
• salt to taste

Simmer to soften veggies.
Prepare your spaetzle batter while the soup simmers. (See below)

• When veggies are about halfway softened, add 1 bag of frozen carrots. (If you don't have frozen, you can add fresh with the onions and celery; or canned at the end with the meat.)
• When the veggies are almost done cooking, add your spaetzle.   Cook according to instructions below.
• When spaetzle is done cooking, remove from heat and add 2 cups of your choice of cooked meat. I used a pint of canned elk.
• Stir in your choice of herbs and spices. I used parsley, oregano, black pepper, and sage, to taste.  I don't measure, but perhaps 1 T parsley, 1 T oregano, 3/4 t black pepper, and 1/4-1/2 t sage.

GF Spaetzle

Mix together:

• 3 c GF flour mix
• 3/4 tsp xanthan gum (unless your mix already includes it)
• 3/8 tsp salt

Mix together

• 3 egg
• 1 c milk

Pour milk and egg mixture into flour mixture.  Stir together.  Set aside until soup is nearly done. 

When veggies are nearly done, add spaetzle to soup by putting through a potato ricer with largish wholes.  Stir.  Bring to simmering and reduce heat to just maintain a simmer.   Cover.   Cook for about 5 minutes.
A few things I will do differently next time:

1) I forgot to salt my broth until the very end.  So the spaetzle was a bit bland.  When we make broth, we cook up the bones into infinity, and then strain through cheesecloth.  Then we let it sit overnight and skim most of the fat off before canning.  (We do use the fat, but Joe has read fat can effect the seal in home canning, so we use or preserve it separately.)  After the fat is off, Joe pressure cans the broth.

2) I perused a few other spaetzle recipes, and I think next time I will add more eggs and cut the milk some.  These were more fluffy than chewy.  The spaetzle I've really liked in the past is chewier, more dense.

3)  I will add more broth.  We all got broth the first helping.  But after that, what remained was more like stew.

Even without these suggested improvements, the soup was terrific.  It was very fun to see the kids all taking seconds and third, and even fourths.  And the two littlest sickies both ate a small portion eagerly.

What more can a mom ask for, right?  A nutritive meal that took less than 1/2 hour to prepare.

The Pastor with a Penny Whistle

Rodney B. recently gave Joe this book, Grandpa Blows His Pennywhistle Until the Angels Sing, by Susan L. Roth.  Rodney also gave Joe his first penny whistle. 

Rodney's like that.  If he sees something that reminds him of someone, he often picks it up for him or her.  When he saw a penny whistle somewhere, he recalled having heard Joe talk about wanting one.  So he bought one for Joe.

So too with this book. 

The book is a good fit.  There is a pastor, the Very Reverend Wilson, (who happens to drone on and on).  There's a Grandpa who plays his penny whistle rather than going to sit in church to listen to the droning pastor.  There's a little boy, Little Boy James, who is too busy to want to sit still during one of the Very Reverend Wilson's sermons on a hot summer day.  And there's a Mama and Papa who are ready to pull their hair out trying to control Little Boy James with all his little boy energy.  Many similar themes and characters to our life.

Little Boy James falls off the barn roof while trying to avoid getting ready for church.  He lies unconscious, but alive.  Grandpa marches to church and interrupts the Very Reverend Wilson's droning to play a sad song on the penny whistle.  This draws a choir of angels into the church.  Once the angels are assembled, Grandpa marches home, with the angel choir following, playing his penny whistle all the way like the Pied Piper of Hamlin.   Once home, the angel choir sings, and Grandpa plays, and Little Boy James wakes up just fine.

I know why Rodney got this book for Joe.  The "Pennywhistle" in the title first caught his eye.  When he saw that there was also a pastor in the story, that sealed the deal.  It's a cute little story with a happy ending, and very cool cut and torn paper collage illustrations.

But I really, really hope Rodney doesn't think Joe is a droning pastor. 

And I'm pretty certain Rodney would rather have his pastor preach the Message of Salvation through Jesus' Blood and Righteousness, and faithfully administer the Holy Sacraments, than lead an angel choir around the county with his penny whistle, healing the sick.

But it would be kind of cool if he could do both, wouldn't it.  The idea appeals to our human flesh.  We want those tangible signs of God's glory.  We seek to feel and see the glory of God outside of His Word and Sacrament. 

We must remind ourselves what Jesus said to the Pharisees in Matthew 16, "A wicked and adulterous generation seeks after a sign."  God has given us what we need.  We recall when the Rich Man was suffering the pangs of hell, and he asked Father Abraham to send Lazarus back from the dead, to his brothers, so that they would believe.  Abraham said, "They have Moses and the Prophets.  Let them hear them." (Luke 16:29).

Thank You Heavenly Father for giving us Your Written Word and the Precious Sacraments.  Those Sacraments are the signs you have given us.  The Heavenly Power in the earthly elements.  That Communion with You that we can see and feel and smell and taste. 

May we never forget the Glory and Power intrinsic in these simple elements connected with Your Word and Promise.  May we ever seek You only in those Places where and Tools within which You have promised to come to us.

Thank You for the gift of a Faithful Pastor.  A pastor who faithfully teaches us your Written Word.  And who faithfully administers your Holy Sacraments.

Even if the Very Reverend might occasionally drone a little bit.

The Blanket that Wanted to be a Rug: And the intertwined chasings of myself around my brain

In the last few days, in between things, I've crocheted a lovely baby afghan.  Or is it a rug?  I'm not sure anymore.  But it is lovely, is it not? I wish you could feel it.  Its softness is irresistible.  The yarn is bulky and thick.  It's a cotton/acrylic blend.  And the colors are very rich.  The picture doesn't do it justice.

It was intended to be for a baby shower which I may or may not attend tomorrow.  But now that I'm done with this project, I've decided that it will not be for that shower.  Now my decision is whether or not I will pull it out and re-ball the yarn; or save it for the Nazareth fancy work sale next fall.

But we need to start back further in this saga to get the full effect of the "chasings of myself around my brain" thing mentioned in the title of this blog post.

A few facts first.

• I'm a pastor's wife
• My husband serves four congregations, has three services on Sunday morning and one on Saturday morning; during Lent he has midweek services three nights a week
• I was raised in the era of that elusive ideal of the perfect pastor's wife
• I have ten children
• For many years I homeschooled them
• We've been here, at this parish, for over eleven years
• When we moved here, I was expecting my sixth baby within a few months; my oldest was nine
• I'm prone to forgetting things of import 
• Oh, and in my own way, with certain things, I battle perfectionism

In other words, I have been busy.  And I was doomed to fail.  At least at the part about the perfect pastor's wife.  I decided early on in my pastor wiverly career that I would not attend baby showers or wedding showers; I was busy with my kids.  They were all little.  My husband had church on Saturday, when most showers are scheduled.  There were too many children for me to want to inflict them upon any shower I might attend.

Not to mention the fact that I knew, as a reality of my personality, that I could not keep track of everyone else's special occasions, and I'd be bound to miss somebody.  And the perfect pastor's wife can't do that, right?  We can't do for some what we won't do for all.  Or at least that's the ideal I carried into this vocation. 

Not to mention the fact that when we first moved here I knew nobody so the whole gift giving thing was a little stressful for me.  I didn't know how to buy gifts for people of whom I knew so little.  I didn't know how to find gifts when I was so isolated compared to living in a small city with malls and stores.  I also, (is this stingy of me?) I also had a little bit of trouble parting with our money, when I didn't even know the people to whom I was giving.  Not that I didn't want to give, just that I'm pretty modest on the kinds of gifts I give for my own family, and the things we have.  And such simple things are not the norm for most of mainstream America.  That sinful pride of mine always feels as if the kind of gifts upon which I generally spend money are not comparably fit for the general public. 

Now that stingy or prideful part did not fit with my perfect pastor's wife ideal.  The perfect pastor's wife went to all showers and gave a little token something whether or not she knew the person at all.  The perfect pastor's wife bought some small item in bulk, to have on hand to simply grab from the shelf when a need arrived.  She wrapped them all when they arrived in the mail, all in the same kind of wrappings, so that nobody could say, "Her wrapping was nicer than mine.  The pastor's wife likes her better." 

Silly isn't it?  I know.

So with all that stupid perfect pastor's wife baggage, I decided I wouldn't do showers.  I had a handy excuse in the multitude of my children and my husband's schedule.

But I find my kids are growing up.  I no longer homeschool.

I really can attend showers now.

And I know people here now.  I even want to attend the showers.  These people are my friends.  And if I don't always know the wife- or mom-to-be, her parents or family are my friends.

But I do still struggle with that part about me being a ditzy personality who is doomed to forget someone or something.  But I'm happy to say that I've also gotten past the perfect pastor's wife thing.  My life (homemaking, orchestrating, keeping up) is such a train wreck that everyone knows full well that there is no perfect pastor's wife here at this parish.  I am so glad I don't have to carry that mantle around any more.

What a relief!  What you see is what you get, right?  Even that's hard to remember sometimes, though, as you'll see later on.

I have a skill now.  I can crochet.  I can make things for others with this skill.  I can find a little something I can make to give when the need arises. 

And the skill is also good for me.  As I've mentioned before, the rhythm, the colors, the textures of crochet appeal to me greatly.  This hobby has been a great balm to me during this lengthy struggle with depression from which I'm ever-so-slowly emerging. 

So I could whip something up for this shower on Sunday, right?

Oh-oh, here's perfect pastor's wife whispering in my ear again.  What's that you say, oh, you evil and twisted part of my conscience?

"No.  You can't go to Kim's shower since you didn't go to Stephanie's just the other week.  They are married to brothers.  All things being equal, you can't go to one, if you didn't got to the other."

"Oh, yes I can.  There are several differences.  Kim's is on a Sunday after a church dinner, so I'll be at church anyway.  Stephanie's was on a Saturday, and it was not at the church.  Kim's is more of a church community shower.  Stephanie's was a wider group of her friends and family.  Besides, I can always whip something up to give Stephanie when her baby comes.  Kim's baby is already here, so it's OK that I give her a gift first.  Just go away! and stop plaguing me with that myth of the perfect pastor's wife."

So you see, it all goes around and around in my head.  Even when I know.  I know!  I know that I don't have to put on airs of the perfect pastor's wife.  Even now!  I still struggle with those voices of perfectionism that try to doom me to failure.

And so I decided to make an afghan.  I ignored my inner perfect pastor's wife.  Yes, yes, I know.  Afghans are expensive to make.

And so more voices, "Can you really obligate yourself to $30 gifts for baby showers?  You know you won't want to make an afghan out of ordinary yarn.  You'll want that fancy soft stuff that feels so nice running through your fingers, and snuggling up next to baby's skin.  And it comes in such small skeins that it will take a whole bunch of them."

"You're right.  I can't really afford $30 baby gifts.  However, I can invest $30 in my healing.  And this crochet thing, it's therapy.  It's healing.  If I make something smaller, something like booties, for instance, it won't be as soothing.  It's less repetitive.  It's more thinking, so less relaxing."

And so more chasings of myself around in my brain.

But I threw all caution to the wind.  I counted out the skeins I had of some super soft Lion Brand Baby's First yarn and found I needed a few more.

"Matt, can you pick me up some yard when you're in Town tonight?"  Oh, Matt!  He's such a good sport to be constantly buying armsful of yarn for his mom. 

I eagerly went to work on this afghan, and thoroughly enjoyed myself.  I've been pretty busy with household things lately (I'll write a different post about that, but think painting and new floors).  I've not has as much time to crochet as I'd prefer.  Plus my scarf box is full to overflowing, since it's nearing the end of winter.  The holiday gift giving season is over.  Not much opportunity to get rid of my backlog.  But still I stitch.  Stitch and stitch and so my box overflows and I find I really do need to stop making scarves.

Where was I? 

Oh, yes.  Afghan.  I used a new stitch that in my needlework book is called close scallops.  I used the Lion's Brand Baby's First yarn.  I just stitched.  And stitched.  And enjoyed.

I planned to do a wide stripe motif of several different colors.  An ABCDEDCBA pattern.  With a wide-ish border around the edge.  I compared my initial chain to a crib sized blanket I have around here, and left what I thought was adequate room for my border.  And just stitched.  Stitched.  Enjoyed.  Reveled in the feeling.  And repetition.  And feasted with my eyes upon its beauty as the work progressed.  It really is beautiful and luxurious.

But what's this?  It's going to be too long?  Shoot, it's beginning to look more like an area rug kind of  runner thing than an afghan!

OK, quick re-boot.  I'll do fewer stripes and make each stripe shorter.  ABCDCBA.

Good thing I missed that stitch way back there and have to rip out anyway.  Oh, and just so you know, that's not a bad thing.  The ripping out.  This yarn comes right out without the tangling toward which some yarns tend.  And the textures and rhythm are still soothing.  I don't get the thrill of seeing a work progress, but I've learned to live with that.  It's the price one pays for not using patterns and guessing out of my head on how to do things.  I rip out quite often.  And I'm OK with that.

So, back to the re-boot.  I'll make these rows shorter and skip that last color all together.  Then I'll still have room for my wide border.

But as I stitched along, I realized that my length was still too great compared to the width.  I could shorten my last color by half.  But then I'd have to go back and shorten the first color that much, too.

Now anyone who crochets may imagine that this is not really a very easy thing to do.  One can pull stitches out from the working end quite easily, but not from the starting end.  One must find, in the middle of the work, the spot from which one wants to pull out, figure out where to snip the yarn, and then rip back toward the beginning.  And there's also a little trick about re-attaching some sort of chain or foundation row onto the stitches that will now be the beginning row, so that they have something onto which to hang, since you will have pulled out that to which they were originally stitched.  But that's OK.  I've done that a few times too.  I have a little system.  And no, it's not totally relaxing.  In fact, it can be even a little but stressful.  But mostly in a putzy annoying kind of way.  Not a difficult kind of way.

But I did it.  I got the job done.  I finished the body of the work and continued to the border.  I was still not totally pleased with the result, however.

The finished project was still going to be narrower than I wanted.  I had measured it against that crib quilt, but somehow, it still appeared too narrow.  The proportion was off.  I tried a few different kinds of borders, and even did a couple tries of making the side borders wider than the end borders, in order to even out the proportion.  But the various things I tried didn't please me, so each time I took the border attempts out and started again.

Eventually I did end up with a finished product.  It's beautiful.  The colors are rich.  They blend well one into the other.  The blanket is incredibly soft.  Really.  All my kids have been asking for it.  Or asking me to make them one like it.  I love to gaze at it, and to touch it.  I'd love it for my blankie were I in the need of one.

But as you can see from the photos, it is still not well-proportioned.  It still kind of reminds me more of an area rug than a baby blanket.

I woke up early this morning (on my one day a week to sleep in), and could not get back to sleep.  I found myself tossing and turning, stewing about this dumb blanket.  More chasings of myself around in my brain.

And to what conculsions did I come?  After all that tossing and turning?  And all those chasings of myself around in my brain?

Really, truly, even for therapy, I cannot afford to be giving $30 shower gifts.  Really, truly, I can start to go to showers, and I ought to do so.  Really, truly, I'd enjoy the social aspect of going to showers.  Really, truly, I have the ability to make something not so grand to give at such functions.  And even if it's not part of my therapy, I can still do it.  Something little like a hat, or booties, or mittens.  Those things I can handle.  And with practice, I might even come to find them relaxing.  I've done a few such things, and they are really cute when they are done.  Really.  Cute.

But now the puzzle remains.  What to do with the blanket that wanted to be rug?  I'm undecided.

I could give it to the Nazareth sale as an afghan.

I could put one of those non-slip backings on it and make it, officially, an area rug.  And still give it to the fancy work sale.  But do people buy fluffy baby colored area rugs for their nurseries?  I don't know these things.

Or I could simply pull out the stitches, enjoying the rhythm and the colors and the textures.  And roll all that expensive yarn back up into balls to be used at some later date.

I don't know.

But I do know I have some quick work to do on something little, if I want to start my foray into baby and wedding shower attendance tomorrow afternoon.

Easy Creamy Curry Hotdish

Canned Bear Curry Bake

• 3 c dry rice
• 1 qt canned bear (or if you don't happen to have any canned bear; use 1-2 lbs of meat of your choice, pork and chicken go especially well with curry)
• 1 med onion, sliced
• 1 large carrot, sliced
• 2 ribs celery, sliced
• 1 orange, halved and then thinly sliced
• 1/4 c - 1/3 c sugar
• 1-3 tbs curry powder, depending upon how strong your curry is and how strong you like your curry
• 1 tbs salt

Layer the above in a large baking pan or small roaster.  I used a 10x15" baking dish and covered with aluminum foil.  Next time I will use a roaster, or cover with a jelly roll pan, since the oranges reacted with the foil a little bit.

• 1-2 cans coconut milk
• water to equal 6 c liquid 

Pour over layered ingredients.
Cover and bake at 350°F for 2 hours.
Remove from heat and let sit, covered, for 5-15 minutes before serving.  If desired, serve a dollop of plain yogurt on the side or drizzled over the top.

God collects our tears

This is for Rhonda who lost her dear husband; and for Ella, Isaac, Paul, Lily, Gloria, and little Anna, who lost their dear Papa in a plane crash last evening.

God's Word is full of so many beautiful metaphors. And with God, being so great and awesome as He is, some of them are probably not metaphors so much as a mere human image of His goodness and compassion.

It's hard to see that goodness and compassion when something terrible happens. And so we must turn to, and cling to, those images of His goodness in the Bible. Our human words of comfort and peace will be hollow and empty, due to the intensity of your pain. And even God's Words will sometimes feel void. But at core They are foundational. And real. And They will sustain you in the deepest parts of yourself, even when you can't see or feel or think the comfort They contain.

Psalm 56

Be merciful to me, O God, for man would swallow me up;

Fighting all day he oppresses me.

My enemies would hound me all day,

For there are many who fight against me, O Most High.

First the psalmist acknowledges our enemies. On this earth, they are sometimes physical enemies. But more often they are spiritual and emotional enemies of our own weakness, and the temptations of the devil, the world, and our own sinful flesh. They assault us on all sides. Our pain, heartache, doubts, fears, confusions, worries.

Whenever I am afraid,

I will trust in You.

In God (I will praise His word),

In God I have put my trust;

I will not fear.

What can flesh do to me?

The psalmist continues with an affirmation of trust in God. This world is temporal. Our human flesh, the ways of this world, they have no eternal power over us. God is bigger then are they. "In God I have put my trust. I will not fear. What can flesh do to me?"

All day they twist my words;

All their thoughts are against me for evil.

They gather together,

They hide, they mark my steps,

When they lie in wait for my life.

Shall they escape by iniquity?

In anger cast down the peoples, O God!

Another paragraph about our many enemies follows. Again, not always a physical enemy. The imagery here reminds me of how we chase ourselves around in our brain sometimes, filled with the doubts and frustrations and pains of this life.

You number my wanderings;

Put my tears into Your bottle;

Are they not in Your book?

When I cry out to You,

Then my enemies will turn back;

This I know, because God is for me.

In God (I will praise His word),

In the Lord (I will praise His word),

In God I have put my trust;

I will not be afraid.

What can man do to me?

Now the psalmist once again turns to God and His goodness. Just think about this a minute, "You number my wanderings; Put my tears into Your bottle; Are they not in Your book?" God knows all our weaknesses, all our enemies, every doubt and confusion. He knows our every tear; yes, He even has a bottle for them.  He records them in His book.  Even when we are so broken in every physical and emotional way that we risk breaking spiritually too, even then God is with us. He sustains us with His eternal comfort and Fatherly goodness.

Vows made to You are binding upon me, O God;

I will render praises to You,

For You have delivered my soul from death.

Have You not kept my feet from falling,

That I may walk before God

In the light of the living?

And a final paragraph, acknowledging our trust in God's promises, and in the ultimate promise of eternal life with Him. "You have delivered my soul from death...that I may walk before God in the Light of the living."

Rhonda and family, your Adam is walking before God in the Light of the living.  Amazing!  And so very sad for you who are still walking here on this earth.  God be with you at this time.